


One Of Those Nights

by puzzle_peace



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Pining, This is that Gay Yearning babey!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 21:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20234689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puzzle_peace/pseuds/puzzle_peace
Summary: Sweet Pea couldn’t sleep.





	One Of Those Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Writing Riverdale Fic? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> While it's not the same characterization, I took the name Ace for Sweet Pea's brother from [jugheadjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones)' amazing fic [from the rich to the poor they are most unkind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038741/chapters/29824386). If you haven't read it yet, go check it out! It genuinely made me cry happy tears.
> 
> In my head this is a younger, pre-canon Sweet Pea (since his brother is still around here).
> 
> Enjoy!

Sweet Pea couldn’t sleep.

He was alone in the trailer he shared with Ace. His brother was out for the night, staying at his girlfriend’s place. Nothing unusual about that.

Tonight is… one of those nights. The nights where the silence in the trailer - the tiny trailer where no breath, no footstep, no twitch of an arm against the sheets went unheard - made his skin prickle, tugged at his ribcage, made his fingers twitch.

When he was a kid, he always listened to the sounds of the trailer to fall asleep. He would turn on his side and stare across the room at the lumpen shape of his brother, listen to his breaths. He would slow his own to match, breathing deep and even until he could only hear one sound: them, together. 

He thinks he probably did the same when his Mom was around, back when there were three sets of breaths, but he can hardly recall - almost doesn’t want to.

Usually the silence doesn’t bother him; sometimes he relishes in it, in having the whole place to himself. But tonight he feels… unmoored.

It’s one of those nights where nothing feels quite right. His body feels hot, like there’s electricity under his skin. His head feels heavy, but his chest feels too light. He feels wrong, but he doesn’t know what caused it. He feels like he needs… something. He _ aches_, just a little.

Normally when he feels bad, he pushes through it, ignores it. But on nights like these he just can’t. Won’t. On nights like this he lets himself think, really think, just to feel it - like probing at torn flesh with his fingers, encouraging the pain just because he wants to feel it, feel something, make sure he still can. He feels raw tonight, like an exposed nerve.

He can’t stop thinking about Fangs.

Like the way his hands wrap around the handles of his bike and his fingers curl, strong and steady. The way his gaze makes Sweet Pea feel like there’s no one else in the room, how he smiles and his eyes _ shine _ and it makes Sweet Pea’s chest tighten because he wants him to _ never stop _. The way his jeans rest on his hips, how his jacket stretches his shoulders, just right. The way he put his hand on Sweet Pea’s shoulder last week, how he swore he could feel the heat of it through his jacket and his flannel, how he can still feel the ghost of it, even now, on his skin. The way his lips pull up when he says something dumb just to make Sweet Pea laugh and it’s all he can do not to stare, punching his shoulder playfully to quell the feelings he doesn’t know how to handle.

God, but he wants him. He didn’t understand before, would look at Joaquin’s fingers on his keyboard or Toni’s hand around her pen, would wonder why it didn’t feel the same, captivating, like he couldn’t look away.

But he knows now. He knows what that means.

He hasn’t told anyone, not even Toni. Sometimes he feels like the words will just burst out of his mouth, like they’re knocking against his teeth, waiting to break free. But he just...

Can’t.

He thinks about his brother, of how he asks Sweet Pea when he’s going to get a girlfriend like him with that proud smile, that _ you’re getting older, kid _ grin; about one of the older Serpents, drunk and bored of the music at the Wyrm yelling “turn that gay shit off and play some _ real _ music!”; about the way the kids at school whispered when Toni talked about creating an LGBT club at Southside High.

He wishes he were brave, like Toni and like Fangs. He wants to be. 

And god, even though he has Toni and Fangs and the Serpents and Ace, tonight he feels so, so alone. So lonely.

So instead, he closes his eyes and imagines.

He imagines what it would feel like if Fangs rested his hand on his shoulder. This time he wasn’t wearing a jacket, could feel the rough heat of Fangs’ palm against his skin. He imagines how his heart would race, beating so hard he would worry that Fangs could feel it through his hand, like morse code telling him exactly what Sweet Pea was thinking. What he _ wants _ . He would keep his hand on his skin and he would smile at Sweet Pea, eyes shining just for him. Sweet Pea would look at his lips because he can’t resist, even if only for a second. Fangs would catch him looking but he would just smile, lean in, whisper _ it’s okay, Pea _ . He would kiss him softly until he was shaking with it, just a little, bringing his hand to rest on Fangs’ hip to steady himself as they catch their breath, foreheads almost touching. Fangs would say _ what took you so long, Pea? _with that teasing smile of his, and Sweet Pea would be lost.

He wants Fangs, so badly, but he can’t have him. This fantasy is all he can have, but it’s _ his _ and it makes him feel warm, even if his chest clenches tight and his eyes feel too hot. This, is what he is allowed to have.

In the morning, he’ll wake up and go to school like normal, muss up Toni’s hair and punch Fangs’ shoulder and _ smile _ . But tonight he wraps his arms around himself tight, tucks a pillow behind himself, squeezes his eyes shut until he can imagine it’s a body, a pair of arms, someone else holding him, and he lets himself feel. Lets himself _ be. _

And if his pillow becomes damp around his eyes and his breaths hitch, just a little, well. There’s nobody there to see.

His pillow will be dry in the morning. It always is.

**Author's Note:**

> This was very bittersweet but I'm really feeling Swangs right now and hope to continue writing for them! Hopefully I'll take this from angst to angst with a happy ending soon...
> 
> Feel free to chat with me on my [main tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/puzzle-peace) or send me a prompt on my [writing tumblr](https://puzzle-peace-writing.tumblr.com)! I would probably die of happiness if someone sent me a prompt lol


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